


When I Get There

by NovemberDecember



Series: Dream a Little Dream of Me [1]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: 70's Music, 80's Music, 90's Music, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Car Trips, F/M, Gen, Love at first... hearing, Minor in love with someone overage, Misunderstood Teenager, Music, No Underage Sex, Radio, Road Trips, Unrequited Love, aesthetic, mislead, not sexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-04-16 06:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14159268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberDecember/pseuds/NovemberDecember
Summary: [COMPLETED] Nena is a 15-year-old girl who, like many other teenagers, feels mislead and misunderstood in America, circa 2005. On a specifically peaceful day, she hears screaming, which leads to her realizing that she's stuck in a zombie apocalypse. She decides to escape the world, and runs away to only God knows where. After a day of road tripping, she changes the radio station and pauses, only to hear a sweet Southern voice on the other end. Nena will find him. [BASED OFF A DREAM I HAD.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is based off a dream I had half a month ago, and I decided to write it because it was such a nice dream. Of course I added Nena myself; she wasn't originally in the dream. I really hope you guys like this. Personally, it's not my favourite work, but eh. Please make sure to leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed! If you see any grammar errors, feel free to point it out! It's appreciated.

I couldn’t hear the screaming over the music playing through my earbuds. I couldn’t see people running away, as my eyes were closed and my head down.

I had been craving music from the 1980’s and 1970’s recently for absolutely no reason. It gave me a horrible feeling in my stomach whenever I listened to it, and it in general made me really uncomfortable, like I was about to be murdered.

I thought about it late last night, coming up with the conclusion that it was punishment for being alive, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong recently. But for some reason I felt like I deserved it.

So I sat there, hidden away from my high school’s courtyard, listening to “99 Luftballons” by Nena, a woman whose name I shared, oddly enough. Luckily it was a good song, so my name didn’t feel disgraced or anything stupid like that. The song had come out seven years before I was born, so maybe my mother had named me after her.

The only reason I realized something was wrong was because a teacher had begun shaking me viciously. I cringed as I looked up, about to yell at her, but realizing that she had this look on her face like she had just seen a murder. I pulled my earbuds out with the music still playing.

“You need to run, now! Or hide, or something, please do that!” She spat in my face, running away before I could as any questions.

My first thought was, “Oh my god, a shooting? Is someone shooting up the fucking school?”

So I stood up quickly and instinctually grabbed my backpack and tried to listen amongst the screams for a gun, but I couldn’t hear any. There didn’t appear to be any problem. Was this all just a big prank on me for skipping class? I hope not, that would be a ridiculous waste of time.

A bunch of kids began running past me, tears rolling down there face. That’s when I heard an inhuman scream.

Oh, a zombie. That’s pretty cool.

I thought about what the teacher had told me, about running away. I hate giving into other people’s advice, it makes me feel stupid. But maybe that was good advice.

Maybe I really needed to run away.

I turned around, in the same direction everyone else was running. No. That was stupid, to follow everyone else. I turned left and began running.

I ran past some stupid slut who got pregnant by her cousin last year and accidently drank so much alcohol the baby had died. I ran past some quiet boy who smelled like salt and puked in the middle of the cafeteria yesterday. I just ran.

I ran past what I assume were zombies, out of the school, and into what students consider the free world. I just ran.

I ran past the grocery store where I flirted with the cute bagger last week, who had flirted back. I ran past the library where my best friend had posted a picture of herself reading her favourite book for the third time. I just ran.

In the movies and in shows you always see how the protagonists are frozen in fear, unable to move, paralyzed. That’s not how I felt. For the first time in my life, I felt genuinely afraid for my life, and I couldn’t stop running.

I ran until dawn’s golden fingers touched the sky, and slowed down. Now I was tired, all my adrenaline was gone. As I looked around, I felt oddly safe. 

I stood on a long, broken down road which stretched out for miles, surrounded by coward-coloured wheat, which colours mocked me. As I looked around I realized how oddly serene the situation was. It made me want to listen to slow acoustic music. I looked at my phone’s battery, which read 89%, and then swiftly put it back into my pocket. I didn’t want to waste vital life on some music.

I briskly turned as I heard the roaring of a beat up engine behind me. It appeared to me as an old Mercedes car; filthy, but the colour of angry clouds laid underneath all the grime. The car pulled up beside me, the passenger window down, and a man poking his head towards it. I aimed my eyes towards the backseat where a girl I recognized sat. She was in my fifth period environmental science.

“Hello,” I said monotone to the man. What else would I say in this situation? I knew he wasn’t going to kidnap me or rape me, his daughter was with him. Plus he was a dad. Dads weren’t usually like that.

“My daughter said she recognized you! You’re Nena, right?” The dad smiled at me, and I smiled back. “Yes, that’s me. Your daughters in my fifth period class,” I responded. My classmate jumped towards the front seats, shoving herself through the small opening between them. “See, dad? I told you that was her! Can she ride with us?” She asked her father, before turning over to me. “Nena, do you want to ride with us? We’re leaving the city. It’ll be safer.”

I didn’t like kids my age. They were all really annoying, but I wasn’t going to argue. I needed a ride, and I heard groaning and moaning of the dead behind me, hidden in the corn. “Yeah. I do need a ride, please. Would it be alright if I rode in the front seat?” I asked, and the dad unlocked the car door. “Hell yeah, kiddo! Climb on in!”

I opened the door, climbed in, and slammed it hard behind me before locking it and rolling up the window. I was tired. I had run for hours. I began inspecting the car in an attempt for boredom to overcome me and help me sleep.

There was glow in the dark stickers on the roof of the car, and a hula girl dancing on the dashboard.

I didn’t fall asleep.

I turned my head towards the window, repositioning my body into a more comfortable position. We drove a safe speed, aiding my ability to look at the dead faces that painted the countryside. Creatures of all shapes and sizes stood around and on the road. Some wearing pants, some wearing skirts. Some with short hair, some with long hair. I shouldn’t judge the dead.

A zombie apocalypse felt stupid. In television and in movies the apocalypse lasts for years and years. That feels unrealistic. At most, I assumed, it would be two years. A bunch of slow dead people are easy to control. It’s not like they’re running. Not yet, at least.

It was quiet.

I fell asleep.

✲✲✲✲

I woke up. It was still dark outside, so it was either really early or night. The car was still.

I groggily turned my head towards the digital clock implanted into the car, and the bright green numbers shined back at me.

5:36 A.M.

I looked over to the empty driver’s seat, then to the rear view mirror, which revealed the same conclusion about the driver’s seat. I frowned, confused. Had they ditched me here? I doubt it. I wasn’t that annoying.

I stared down to the ignition, which revealed the keys in place. They hadn’t ditched me. I could take the car now if I was truly evil. I wasn’t evil. 

I decided to wait.

✲✲✲✲

I waited till 7:31 AM before turning the keys and driving away. If they planned on returning, they were doing it two hours too late. I was beginning to get hungry.

I was deprived of entertainment as I drove down the country road, my head clouded with boredom and worry. I switched the radio on. An empty channel. I turned the frequency up, and reached a channel playing music that I never heard before. It sounded weird. I turned it off.

I drove until I reached a gas station on the side of the road. Just my luck, I thought, as I realized that I was almost out of gas and my stomach was rumbling like an earthquake. I turned off the ignition and slapped the keys into my pocket before entering the gas station.  As expected, no one was there.

I grabbed any foods that looked healthy; nuts, fruits, beef jerky, granola bars. Shit like that. I grabbed a bunch of pills that seemed useful- pain, cramps, and headaches. I grabbed some pads and tampons. Hell, I even grabbed some condoms. To top all of it off, I grabbed a shitload of water.

After enjoying a delicious jar of peanut butter for breakfast, I filled the gas tank up and slammed myself down into the seat, in attempt to relax. I took some deep breaths before turning the key and starting the car.

I turned on the radio, and went up the frequency before hearing the sound of Wang Chung’s “Dance Hall Days.”

I liked this song, I could drive to it.

I drove until the song ended, and Hall & Oates’ “Out of Touch” began playing. I liked the song, but I had heard it so many times my brain rattled with each beat, so I turned the frequency up once again.

The radio began coughing loudly, and I suddenly stopped the car. My mind began racing, and my heartbeat accelerated.

I had slammed the breaks for the dumbest reason. _The coughing sounded familiar to me_.

How the hell does a cough sound familiar, you ask? Well, I don’t know. Your reason is as good as mine.

I hadn’t even heard the cough before, but I swear about its familiarity.

Despite the jumbling in my brain, I watched in horror at the radio. The coughing died down, and a slick, Southern accent sounded out.

“It’s day, somethin’-somethin.’ I don’t keep track of time, I ain’t a damn watch,” the man on the other side yelled loudly, without a care in the world.

I sat there, paralyzed.

I felt awake for the first time in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T-Bag talks over the radio, pretending to have a conversation with the listener. Nena talks back and finds out his location after stacking up on supplies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you find any errors, make sure you tell me. Thank you!

I was too shocked to change the channel.

It felt like the man on the radio had reached through the speakers and wrapped his hand around my throat and began choking me. I was choking on nothingness, my own shock. My emotions.

I hated this feeling I was having. I knew what it was- it was fear. I was afraid. But it wasn’t only fright I was feeling.

I had a tingling feeling deep down inside me, a want.

I wanted to find this man.

And do what, I don’t know. Talk to him? Look at him? _Kill him?_

What would I do when I got there?

My thoughts were interrupted as I heard mediocre guitar stringing over the radio, to which I listened. The man began singing softly, a contradiction of his rough accent.

_“They hung a sign up in our town,”_

He wasn’t a good singer. He didn’t care. I loved it.

_“If you live it up, you won’t live it down,”_

I wanted to find him.

_“So she left Monte Rio, son,”_

I began driving again. I listened to the man sing out the entire song, taking small breaks in between to cough and drink some sort of liquid that I was assuming might have been alcohol. There was no way he wasn’t drunk, singing and playing like shit on some crappy radio in the middle of nowhere.

He began speaking again.

“I know you’re listenin’,” he said, and I took my eyes off the road to stare at the radio, despite what my parents had taught me. “I’m locked in some damn room in some damn radio tower, and pretty didn’t even have the respectability to lock me in a room with a window, you know,” he hissed indignantly into his mic.

I chuckled lightly. Pretty? Was that a person?

He moaned softly, startling me slightly, before I realized he might’ve just taken a breath. “Mmm, no ones listenin’, I’m sure. I’m all alone. Well, just me and this bag of beef jerky that expired, oh my, a year ago. How succulent,” he laughed, and I laughed alongside him. I was listening.

_I was listening to him._

✲✲✲✲

“I’mma have a little, uh, colloquy with you, prepare yourself. Riddle me this, how are you today?” the radio man asked, and I smiled as I leaned back into the driver’s seat, ready to go to sleep. “I’m… Confused. How are you?” I asked him back.

It was quiet for a moment.

“I’mma assume you answered that already, since I can’t here you and all. If you asked me how I’m doing, oh my, you’re so polite. I’m doing just peachy now that I’m talking to you. What’s your name?” He asked me next.

“I’m Nena, what’s yours?” I whispered so quietly it was almost inaudible. Again the silence except for the light static.

“I’m- No… Uh… You can just call me T-Bag, most people do anyways, whether I like it or not,” he sounded sad but proud when he said his name. I’d ask him about that when I got there.

There. The radio tower. I was going to get there, to him, and lock him out of that room. Maybe that could be the good thing I do in my life, help somebody who needs it.

His voice interrupted my thoughts.

“I’m tired. Goodnight. I’ll be on tomorrow, whateva.”

I heard a click.

Night-night to you, T-Bag, but I’m afraid that I had a quest.

Find a radio tower map.

I searched throughout the car with no luck, I couldn’t find anything. I decided to drive till 10:30 PM, so drive I did.

✲✲✲✲

I woke up, groggy as all hell for some damn reason. I looked outside at the small buildings in the distance, and then at the neon green clock in the car.

Approximately nine in the morning. Nice.

I opened up a container of almond butter, which I slathered all over a piece of whole wheat bread, and drank it down with half a bottle of water.

After breakfast I began driving, which honestly, I was starting to hate. As soon as I turned on the car, I heard T-Bag screaming over the radio, which worried me before I realized he was singing at the top of his lungs.

It was a song about fire, and the world turning. Ah, Billy Joel. Of course. Right at nine thirty in the morning also. Turns out T-Bag might be one hell of a character that I underestimated.

None of the lyrics he was screaming made sense, and I was pretty sure he had just been screaming for thirty something minutes. Of course, this version of the song was interesting, because he just began screaming about how cute dogs were for five minutes before talking about how soft pillows were.

I didn’t know if he had even slept at all, honestly, because he seemed more drunk now than before.

After another godforsaken ten minutes, he started breathing heavily after slamming back down into his chair. “Whoo! Yeah,that was Billy Joel, hell yeah!” I heard him scream before whispering, “I’m so goddamn drunk. Someone please come get me, Jesus Christ…”

My smile turned to a slight frown. Don’t worry, T-Bag, I’m coming to free you, or something similar to that.

✲✲✲✲

I stopped when I finally came across another gas station. As I looked around, making sure it was safe, a depressing sign caught my eye.

“NO GAS.”

That was alright with me though, as I wasn’t really stopping to get gas. The tank was still pretty full, as I looked down to the presenter.

I was looking for a map.

I stepped out of the safety of my car, slamming the door and locking it before heading into the gas station, the bell ringing as I entered, signaling to the zombies fresh meat. I looked around the store, eyeing the small signs hanging from the ceilings before finally seeing the magic word, “Maps.”

I walked through the store to the maps section, and began surveying the maps. Maps of certain states, maps of the county, local truck stops, and… Radio towers. I grabbed it, threw it in the car, and began loading up on other supplies I was running low on.

As I sat back down in the car and looked over the map, T-Bag began singing once again, soft guitar stringing complimenting his voice.

_“She packed my bags last night pre-flight,”_

I looked at the radio frequency, then at the map. I repeated this over and over again until I found the tower.

Doing all the math, he was… A while away.

I was going to get there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nena almost suffers the loss of her car, and T-Bag recalls the loss of Maytag, who sends him a bit crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not updating this in a while. I've kind of lost interest in writing this so i'm going to speed it up.

I sauntered out of the gas station, summer’s heat hitting my skin and sending waves up my spine. I walked over to the car, opening the trunk and throwing in my findings, and slamming into the old car’s driver’s seat, plopping down onto the faded leather and breathing heavily into the heat as I did so. I woke the car quickly, startling it. I listened in frustration as the engine sputtering quietly before failing to awaken. Panic rushed over me as I twisted the key again and listened to the engine sputter. I looked frantically around the interior of the car, my eyes burnt with fear and restlessness.  

“No,” I whispered hesitantly, my constant meticulous mind abruptly pausing. I felt faint, unsure of what to do, so I slammed down on the steering wheel, my hands throbbing as if my heart lay their instead of my chest. I looked frantically down at my victim, my eyes ultimately shifting down to the keys that dangled in the ignition. I reached down irresolutely towards the keys, twisting them one last time. I shivered as I heard the engine start, euphoria flooding my veins at the sound.

His voice filled the car concurrently as the engine’s sound did, forcing my eyes down to the FM. He spoke mid-sentence, my realization that I was late hit me. Despite listening attentively, I frowned at my folly as he spoke. “-he had a hole in his cell the size of a child, and when I saw it, and I was standin’ there like, god, this pretty boy is escapin’, and he has lost his college boy mind if he thinks he ain’t taken me with,” I listened to T-Bag hiss over the radio, his voice filled with cynicism. I stared off into the road as he spoke of escape. I thought of my own escape; from my life, my school, from people. I just wanted to be with him. No one else. I tore my eyes away from the road to the station which read 107.45 in bright green.

A few hours later I pulled over to the side of the road, my body aching from stillness from hours of straight driving. I leaned my frame into the passenger seat. I opened the center console and began digging around for writing materials, smiling when I found an old red sharpie. It was covered in filth, but it’s state in appearance meant nothing for it’s ability to write. I grabbed the map from the cup holder and popped the marker’s cap, circling the radio station T-Bag resided. I folded the map back up and returned it to the cup holder, changing the gears and pushing the pedals.

I turned up the radio as I drove, listening to T-Bag.

“I had been onto that boy for a while since he,” he paused, as if he was contemplating whether or not to continue with his story. His voice cracked as he spoke again. “he killed someone I cared very much about,” he said solemnly. It went completely quiet, except for the sloshing of liquid in a bottle.  I heard him sigh loudly before saying, “I’m done verbalizin’ for a stretch,” I heard a click, presumably the microphone turning off. Stacey Q’s “Two of Hearts” began playing, and I smiled at the upbeat melody.

_“I never said I wasn’t goinna tell nobody, no baby,”_

My head turned to the side of the road, where a large green sign was planted into the ground. On it were the names of towns that I had never heard of, and just below them was the name of the town where T-Bag’s radio station was. I felt annoyed at the distance between us, at the time it would take me to reach him.

_“But this good loving, I can’t keep it to myself,”_

I rolled down the window and continued driving, the wind coming through and tangling my hair.

_“When we’re together it’s like hot coals in a fire,”_

I was going to get to him.

✲✲✲✲

I lost track of how many other songs had played before I heard T-Bag’s husky voice slither out the old car speakers. As he began speaking, he started of shakey, as if he had been crying. He quickly fixed himself and coughed, clearing his throat and removing any remaining emotion that might’ve been visible in his voice. He coughed again and began strumming a guitar what-sounded erratically, but at the same time each strum sounded meticulous.

He began screaming incoherently into the microphone, high noises and guttural uproar, none of it real. The only word I heard throughout the entire ballad was ‘fuck,’ and he said it rarely through the noise. The noises became angrier in nature, his light yelling turning into wild howling. He began hitting the guitar, still strumming along to his screaming. He stopped suddenly after a loud slap of the guitar’s strings, and threw the guitar across the room, letting out a final yell.

I heard him breathe heavily before dropping into his chair and slamming his fist down on the desk. He was quiet except for his breath, and I was silent in return. After minutes of silence, I quietly spoke. “What’s wrong?” I asked finally. He didn’t answer, and the microphone clicked off. I’m not sure why I asked; he couldn’t hear me. I didn’t expect him to respond.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nena finally gets there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter

Full of anger. Full of primal urges. He was angry, I knew, but I could not even begin to comprehend what about. Had College boy, as T-Bag had referred to him, really killed someone T had cared about? And _what_ about a cell? And _escape_?

I felt stupid as I drove, the realization that T-Bag was an escaped convict only slowly washing over me. To be fair, I had heard about the prison escape in school from a few girls who would talk too loudly in the halls. Something about Fox River, but I hadn’t remembered how many had ran. Apparently, I thought absent-mindedly as I drove, T-Bag was one of them. It was odd, going to go meet an escaped convict. Oddly enough, it didn’t even register to me that continuing my journey was probably a bad idea.

I just drove. My mind slowly wandered to what his crime had been, why he’d done it, when. In the end, I decided, it didn’t matter how much I thought about it, because I could just ask him myself when I finally got there. But did it really matter?

I swerved sharply to avoid a small group of zombies that I had only realized last minute, emitting a small yelp as I turned. My heart beat fast suddenly, and I felt sick. It felt like the closer I got to T-Bag, the more zombies guarded him. At first, my worst thoughts had been, what will happen when I get there, but now slowly had turned into will I get there. Fear, hand in hand.

I had kept the radio on just in case he came back, and I felt happy as I heard the microphone click on after hours of silence. It felt odd when I only heard scratchy silence, and suddenly and almost inaudibly, his soft voice. “ _Everything’s wrong_ ,” he whispered, far off. I slowed the car down and stared at the radio. He had answered my question I had asked hours earlier, but my stomach dropped as I remembered it only to be a coincidence.

“Yeah,” I whispered back. “Yeah, it is,” I continued to stare into the radio, listening to his breathing. I waited minutes before he finally said something. “My drunk, idiot self destroyed the guitar,” he chuckled painfully, and I grinned softly. “Yeah, you did,” I responded, smiling. The car came to a stop as I parked on the side of the road. “Everything’s wrong,” he repeated, this time his accent more clear. My smile faded.

“A lot of it is because of me. I’ve done bad things, things I regret,” he said slowly, pronouncing each word sharply as if he was in pain. I continued to stare, unsure of what to say. “Now, it’s ludicrous, but what’s happenin’ outside? I feel like I have caused it,” he took a deep breath, and so did I. We sighed synonymously. My body felt suddenly cramped by the car, and I stared out into the night sky, towards the tower in the distance, where I knew he was. I was so close.

“It’s not,” I said, staring hopefully at the tower, my mind suddenly unfaded and clear as I walked through a large field, away from the car. He had said his statement minutes ago, but I now only responded. Perhaps the best response was a short one. I shuffled through the long grasses, and up the tower’s stairs. I heard crickets in the distance. I heard the moaning of the undead far off. I ignored it, still walking up, my view expanded unto the treetops.

I made it to the top, and I stared at the rusty door. I heard him speaking inside, calmly. My heart beat quickly, and I felt faint.

As I knocked on the door, every emotion known to man ran throughout my body.


End file.
